


Scent of Disgrace

by asocialconstruct



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Knife Play, M/M, Pre-Series, Shower Sex, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialconstruct/pseuds/asocialconstruct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His knife, the fight, the heady smell of Cain, Deimos finally has what he wants.  This is a translation of Yume ka Mage's "Un parfum de disgrâce," originally posted by her on ff.net and translated here with her permission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scent of Disgrace

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Un parfum de disgrâce](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/12435) by Yume ka Mage. 



> Many thanks to Yume ka Mage for allowing me to do this very rough translation of her awesome fic. Anything awkward is mine, anything wonderful is hers. If you read French, you should read the original version, my translation doesn't do it justice.

The orders to return to base almost drowned out his navigator’s cursing.  Almost.  Deimos had learned to ignore him, and the navigator had learned to deal with his constant silence.  Almost.  The enemy ships had begun their retreat, but Deimos had this one locked before it turned and ran, and he wouldn’t let it get away to find him tomorrow or any other day.  No matter what his navigator said.  The navigator finally cooperated, helping keep the target under lock while reporting to command that they were still under enemy fire.  His navigator’s lie made Deimos smile as he targeted another ship, leaving it no chance of escape.  It sparkled in the blackness a few seconds later, and his only regret was not being able to feel its heat on his face.  The navigator used his distraction to turn them back towards the station, throwing more curses at him.  Better than his first curses, he was learning new ones somewhere, resonating in Deimos' helmet.  Deimos thought briefly about telling the navigator to take it to Bering, but decided against it.  Talking about it would only encourage the navigator’s complaints.  They were the last ones back to the hanger anyway.

* * *

Deimos inhaled deeply, opening the cockpit.  The smell of the hanger bay overwhelmed him, flooded him.  The air was saturated, oil and bodies and sharp chemical smells.  He could have spent hours gorging on the smell alone—had done before—but he caught sight of someone near the open bay door, pushing away the heady intoxication of it.  One unmoving figure in the churning turmoil caused by their late landing, hauled to his feet in the middle of a crowd.  The medical team made their way over, hauling out the useless deadweight casualties.

Deimos watched the other navigators crowd around his, going over their ship after the others had already reported in.  Deimos knew his navigator was angry, knew he didn’t like being ignored, but he didn’t care.  They were alive, they were back, they had taken down more targets than almost anyone.  The adrenaline flowing through him cut out any fear of how close to that sparkling darkness they’d been or any remorse he should have had.  He loved that feeling of invulnerability.

The other fighters had started to leave, the only ones left the weak, the injured, and the one watching for him.  Cain.  Deimos bit his lip under Cain’s look, despite the distance between them.  Deimos climbed out finally, sliding down the ladder in one smooth motion, looking for the exit, looking for Cain.  Smug with knowing Deimos would follow, Cain left, sauntering out of view.  Deimos sighed and paused, glancing out into the emptiness of the hanger mouth.  He was already tired of it, tired of its darkness, couldn’t remember who had taken his first vertigo and replaced it with this blankness.  He watched the medical team work, no sympathy left in him for the dead and the wounded, the ones who hadn’t been good enough.

He left the hanger, winding through the hangers to meet Cain as usual.  He’d had no navigator for almost a month and had been grounded, Deimos the first to suffer for Cain’s moods.  He didn’t complain, though.  Other fighters got it from Cain with his fists, but he laid hands on Deimos in other ways.  He’d have preferred something more regular, more normal, more reliable from Cain, to be something more than a quick fuck between navigators, but Deimos knew he was lucky to have anything from Cain at all.

* * *

He passed near communications, listening for anything Cain might want, focusing on a voice drifting out.  Distorted by static.  A cruiser incoming, good news for Cain and bad news for Deimos, the new navigator surely on it.  With the new navigator, Cain wouldn’t need him, not even once in a while, not with someone else so easily available.  Deimos hurried through the security checks to their usual meeting place.  Didn’t stop at quarters, not with the clock against him and the cruiser incoming to ruin everything.  Only a little time left to meet Cain for one last touch, and Deimos wouldn’t let his own navigator’s complaints spoil it.

They were supposed to meet in the locker room, but there was no trace of Cain.  It wouldn’t have been the first time Cain tested Deimos, just to make sure he could, to make sure Deimos would submit to him in anything, even the humiliation of being left alone, but today Deimos couldn’t take it.  Not with the cruiser bringing in the navigator.  Ignoring the others, he went to his locker.  Only a few fighters lingered, throwing him glances and he knew what they were thinking about, looking him over, but they quickly lost interest.  They knew what to expect by now and he’d made sure they knew it was more trouble than it was worth to try.  

The new ones would be different, though.  Young wolves released in a pack, trying to fight their way into the pecking order, trying to steal a place, trying to find someone to dominate.  A few would be sneaky but more dangerous.  They’d bide their time and make alliances, looking for a moment of weakness.  The rest, the majority, would think coming in fists swinging would make them the alpha.  And they would all want to mark their territory with mating.  Deimos knew he looked frail compared to the others, knew he looked like a good target for a fight or a demonstration of virility.  But they learned soon enough, word getting around how cold he was out in a fight, and only the bravest dared try him after that.  He was happy to dissuade those ones in other ways.

* * *

Cain is the exception.  Deimos ached for him, hoping not to be rejected again.  He’d begged to be claimed as Cain’s, he’d have proudly worn the scar Cain gave his favorites to mark his property.  If Cain ever deigned to give it.  But Cain seemed uninterested in marking another fighter, always preferring navigators.  In the year since Deimos had been on the station, Cain had already had two.  Fighters and navigators were different species, both sure they were the superior.  But only one was the predator.  Command’s utopia of teams built on mutual trust was just a fantasy, their only interest in working together to save their own lives.  Deimos understood Cain’s motives too well.  Taking a fighter would be too permanent.  And breaking a navigator would always be more satisfying than being given anything by another fighter.

Deimos hesitated to finally step into the shower and wait for Cain, aching for it, but unwilling to take off his suit in front of others.  He couldn’t take anyone’s eyes on his bare skin, preferring to change alone, where he could avoid their looks.  But Cain would never come to his room and Deimos was never invited to Cain's: the comfort of a bed wasn’t part of his privileges.  Deimos had always settled for what he got, but he wouldn’t lose his last chance before the navigator arrived, who would distract Cain for however long his fickle attention lasted.  He left the locker room, the couple of fighters still there giving him surprised looks.  He moved easily through the level, nothing like his first few weeks of being lost and dependent.  Deimos knew what he was doing now.

* * *

He heard other fighters murmur as he went by.  He ignored them, pushing on, but the idiots took his lack of a response as an invitation.  He had no time to waste, turning on them to answer their  _invitation_.  His sudden turn surprised them, three of them freezing just out of arm’s reach.  Deimos stood ready, the shadow of a cruel smile on his lips.  With a flick of the wrist, he brought the knife ready in case one of them decided to press their advantage.  He’d never have a chance against three of them barehanded.  But with the knife things were different.  His reputation did him well, the others watching in the hall starting to edge away until the three were left alone, until they retreated too.

* * *

Deimos kept his guard up for others, finding his way to one of the empty bays the fighters had claimed.  Battle rarely satisfied, too much blood lust and too little real to satisfy it with the distant explosions and cold emptiness.  The acid sweat, metallic tang and sickening mix of testosterone and savagery here was closer to real, even if it meant fighting each other.  He wound his way over the catwalk, looking for an empty place to lean on the railing and watch, but there were too many fighters up there already.  Only a spot left at the top of the stairs.  Where the lamb for the slaughter would wait, to take a turn in the fights.  Deimos paused there a second, just to catch a glimpse, not intending to ever step in, just watching, just to see Cain.  Deimos watched him pound the other fighter’s face, already on the ground, barely moving.  Deimos was surprised there was anyone left stupid enough to take him on.  

Never surprised that Cain would be drawn back again and again, though, never surprised Cain needed to prove his superiority one way or another.

“Anyone else?” Cain yelled, kicking the other fighter once more, for good measure.

The hooting crowd went silent, waiting to see if anyone would step forward.  Cain scanned the crowd, his eye landing on Deimos.  A mocking grin spread on his face as he wiped spattered blood off his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Deimos!” Cain called.  “You in or not?”

Deimos went tense, all his energy spent on staying unnoticed and now he was the center of attention.  He knew Cain would beat him, but Deimos still couldn’t disappoint him.  He couldn’t remember when Cain had become an obsession.  When he realized Cain’s cruelties surpassed his?  Or had it been when Cain won against him when they fought the first time?  Or had it been when Deimos later moaned under someone without faking it for the first time? 

He wanted as much as he feared, Cain the only fighter he could respect.  

Knowing he’d lose, Deimos descended the steps, Cain coming to meet him at the foot.  Cain started to climb and Deimos stopped to let them meet.  They were close, too close, the stairs making them equal in height for once, his breath coming short to keep from reacting to Cain’s tiniest movements.  

His breath was cut off as Cain put a hand to his neck, squeezing as he leaned in.  “You sure you belong here, kid?” Cain whispered.

As soon as Cain released him, Deimos coughed, rubbing his throat, gasping for breath.  Cain shoved him, making him stumble back to sit hard on the steps under the jeers of the other fighters.  They wanted a fight, disappointed at the lack of violence, but his humiliation was almost enough.  He stood, trying not to respond to their looks and their sneers, only relaxing when he made it back to the relative safety of the empty locker room.  Cain would take his time, wouldn’t be hurried even though there was no time.  Deimos resigned himself to waiting.  Not as if he really had a choice: he had no where else to go, and Cain had been insistent.  Deimos had to be patient.

* * *

The locker room was empty this time, cold and echoing as Deimos got his things.  He unzipped his suit, starting to push it down his shoulders when a noise made him freeze.  There was movement in the hallway, but the door stayed closed.  Deimos stopped, motionless for a second, waiting for the sound of the alarm.  Only silence, though, so he finished pulling out of his sleeves.  The attacks had started coming almost daily, but there were rarely two in a day, especially not after the Colterans retreated.  The enemy might have moved in on the cruiser, though, an easy target as it slowed for docking and an easy target to demoralize them.

Shirtless, Deimos went to the sink, the wall behind it covered in mirrors, his reflection strangely uncomfortable.  He leaned on one hand and raked the other through his hair.  He pushed it out of the way, his face thin and his eyes too bright.  He’d learned early, his face making everything difficult with too many men trapped together.  His scars marked him, the cuts long closed but the reminders still there, carrying with him everything he’d been before making it to the station, but he couldn’t pull any emotion from them.  He used to hate them, used to suffer over them, but they were empty now.  They’d taught him to arm himself and defend himself, taught him that begging was in vain.  Words meant nothing, only actions.  It had spared him new marks since, his silence proving how much more effective his knife had been than his words.  But the adrenaline of the fight or Cain’s looks made him feel alive, made him feel something, everything else in the daily routine bland, oppressive, insufferable.

Deimos trailed fingers over his neck and the skin of his belly before pushing the suit off to reveal the scars marking his legs.  He didn’t stop to look at them, didn’t look over his shoulder to see the rest over his back as he turned away from the mirrors.  He didn’t need to see them to know they were there.  He’d traced them all, knew them exactly, traced them on his heart.  He hung up his suit and got his things, not forgetting his knife.  It was a protection, a guarantee, and he couldn’t be without it.  He slipped into the closest shower without bothering to lock the door behind him, waiting for Cain.

* * *

Deimos stood in the jet too long, the hot water whipping his skin and easing the stiffness out of his aching muscles.  There was no steam despite the heat, no cloud to hide in, the ventilation too efficient to let moisture escape into the station.  He’d have liked to disappear in that fog, just fade away, but he poured out a drop of the stinking military soap instead.  He couldn’t stand the cutting smell of disinfectant, usually spending more time to rinse the smell from his skin and hair than to actually wash.

He leaned away from the drops of soap that ran between his fingers, rubbing it between his palms and latering his hair.  He hesitated to wash the rest of his body, but left it for now.  Cain wouldn’t be long now, and Deimos didn’t want to torture himself twice.  It could wait.  He leaned back into the jet, water running over his chest and chin as he tilted his head back into the water.  

Deimos opened his eyes suddenly at the sound of a step behind him.  He held his breath, straining for any other sound, but there was nothing.  Only a voice, echoing in the room.  “I told you to wait here,” Cain said, and Deimos didn’t dare turn around, shivering at Cain’s hard tone.  “You need to learn your place.”

* * *

Deimos smiled faintly.  He could perfectly imagine how Cain stood, arms crossed over his chest, smug and rushed from the fight he’d won.  Cain would come after him, but Deimos didn’t even want to defend himself.  He could just give in right away, but he knew Cain would take advantage of any sign of weakness.  It was all part of the game, though, and Deimos reached for his knife slowly.  Wedged the two parts of the handle between his thumb and finger, flicking it open.  He tightened his grip on it, blade out and pointed to the ground, ready.  He kept his breathing even, calm and waiting.  

Another wet footstep, Cain close enough now.  Time.

Deimos turned on him, bringing the knife close to Cain’s heart, getting in under his guard.  He was pushed back, though, spun against the wall, Cain’s elbow between his shoulder blades and arm twisted behind his back.  Pain, hot pressure as Cain’s fingers sunk into his wrist and wrenched his arm back.  Pressed between the cold wall and Cain’s weight, his heart raced with the adrenaline of it.

Cain’s teeth grazed his neck, making him shiver.  “I win.  You done playing?” Cain murmured.

Deimos kept himself from moaning, especially with Cain pushing him harder against the wall.  He could feel Cain’s bare skin against his, wanted nothing else besides the feeling of Cain's skin pressed against him everywhere.  His arm twinged, his hand numb already in Cain’s grip.  He said nothing, just surrendered by opening his hand, letting the knife drop and hit the floor with a wet thud—barely missing both of them.  

Cain let him go, only barely, just enough to ease the pain in his shoulder but keeping Deimos pinned there against the wall.  Cain’s hand trailed down his side, his fingers tracing the bony joint of Deimos’ hip.  Made him gasp sharp as a hand gripped his thigh and cutting teeth bruised his neck.  The bite made him ache for more, the pain pulsing hot under the skin but too shallow to mark.

Cain’s mouth followed the path his fingers had traced down Deimos’ side and thigh.  Less and less chaste now, Cain held Deimos’ wrist tight, keeping him there.  He shivered, the tension unbearable as Cain carefully flicked his tongue over the tips of Deimos’ fingers, sucking, biting.  He tried to glance over his shoulder to where Cain knelt behind him, but got a sharp slap, a burning mark on his thigh.  Deimos let his head fall against the wall with a heavy breath, steadying himself.  Cain let his fingers go, giving Deimos’ thigh a bite while his free hand slid down Deimos' leg and over his ankle.  

Then everything stopped, only Cain’s grip on his wrist holding him down to reality.

* * *

The cold started on his calf.  It trailed up to his thigh and he understood what Cain was doing, the blade grazing the curve of his leg, switching to the other side.  Not the sharp edge, not yet, not as Cain trailed it down across shivering muscle, but he might not be so lucky later.  His heart beat too fast with his own knife pressed against him, not sure Cain knew how to keep the handle safely clasped, the fear of being cut making him all the more sensitive to every little graze.  The flat of the blade pressed against each of his scars, making him shudder.  His breath came short as the sharp tip paused over the blank area of his scars, all the feeling gone from them except tight pressure.  He’d never feel it until too late if Cain decided to open him, but he would take it if it meant finally having Cain’s mark.  

Pressure and the tight grip on his wrist disappeared at the same time, Cain standing to push him against the wall again.

“Wouldn’t want to dull the blade.  Right, Myshonok?” Cain whispered, tight against him.

But Cain’s lips were on his, a permission to not answer, or maybe just smugly sure that Deimos wouldn’t contradict him.  Deimos didn’t care, needing this, not anything so sentimental as a kiss.  With Cain’s mouth on him things were simple, no false tenderness between them, just finally feeling something.  Since being stationed out here, he hadn’t been human.  No home, no family, just a tool used and thrown away to protect Earth and nothing else. 

But not for the moment.

* * *

He barely noticed the water on them now, wouldn’t have noticed if it had gone ice cold, burning in Cain’s arms and drunk on the feeling of Cain against him.  Cain held him tight, one hand on his waist and the other around his shoulders, caressing his back, pulling them together, hard cocks and wet bodies pressed together.  Deimos finally came back to himself enough to move on his own, bringing his hands up to touch Cain’s face.  His fingers grazed Cain’s skin, his palms perfectly fitting the curve of Cain's jaw.  Deimos pushed his fingers into Cain’s dark wet hair, dizzy on each breath with the smell of him.  The sharp chemical smell of soap he could ignore now, Cain’s smell addictive.  Never could say what it was, the danger, rush and sharpness of it making him feel alive only the way escaping that sparkling blackness could.

Deimos moaned into Cain’s mouth as his hand came away from Deimos’ hip to stroke their cocks together, a knee pressed between his, pinning him back.  Flush against the wall again but grateful for it this time, not able to keep himself standing without the support.  His knees shook, not able to pull Cain back when he broke the kiss, Cain focused on stroking them both.  Deimos’ head cracked back against the tile, but the pain was diffuse compared to the rest of it.  He wanted to hold onto this moment, fighting against it, trying to hold back a moan and his need to close his eyes to just let it take him.

Cain took his hand and brought it down, making Deimos replace him in stroking them both.  The feeling of them both pressed together was too much as Cain pulled him into another kiss.  Deimos could never refuse him, would always follow him, the intensity of it building between them with Cain thrusting against him.  A hand slid along his thigh, following the curve of his leg, Cain’s fingers blunt and hard behind his knee as he brought Deimos’ leg up.  He let himself be opened like this, willing to give Cain anything.  He’d learned to love being fucked like this.  Despite his cruelties, despite his savagery, when they fucked he had a certain softness, not just taking like the others Deimos had been with.  Cain made sure to leave him satisfied.  In some ways at least, even if Deimos always wanted more.

* * *

Now with his leg wrapped around Cain’s waist he’d have fallen, shaky, unstable, if not held so tightly and pressed so hard against the wall.  Deimos could barely move his hand between them, his wrist moving, needing this.  Cain’s mouth still on him, demanding and insistent, Cain’s hands wandering over his ass and thighs, teasing, making him shudder. 

Distracted, too needy, he bit Cain.  

A mistake.  Cain punished him by stepping back to leave him collapse shakily to the floor.  Deimos swallowed, looking up at him guiltily.  Cain’s sneering smile and his crooked finger gave him some comfort: Cain wasn’t done with him yet.

The lights flickered, though, the emergency lighting making them ghostly for a moment.

“We expecting a landing?” Cain asked, distracted, glancing out.

Reluctantly, Deimos nodded, holding his breath to see if his chance had been ruined.  He cursed command for diverting the energy to dock the cruiser, telling the whole station, telling Cain how little time there was left.

“Good, my new girlfriend'll be here sooner,” Cain said, smiling back down at Deimos, a predator again.  “Just a few minutes left to celebrate, Myshonok.”

Cain’s hands were on him again, pulling him up, pulling him close.  No more patient trailing fingers, Cain wanted to finish with him quickly, holding him still, pinning his hands above his head when Deimos tried to throw an arm around his shoulders, pushed away when he tried to kiss.  Deimos gave up and tried to concentrate on what Cain would give him.  He closed his eyes, trying to capture this for the last time as Cain stroked them both.  Not even pressing fingers into him this time, Cain wouldn’t even give him a last sense of wholeness, of being filled by him.

Despite the disappointment, he couldn’t push it back longer, his hands curling together above his head as he got closer, desperate to cling to anything.  Cain saw it, Cain knew it, and leaned back, slowing his pace and increasing the pressure.  Deimos came first, moaning at the pain while Cain continued to stroke him, spreading the last of Deimos’ happiness between his fingers.

* * *

They both breathed heavily, catching their breath, Deimos trying to stand even though all he wanted was to lean against Cain.  The outer door whispered opened, Cain glancing back towards it as he pushed Deimos under the jet to rinse them both off.

“You think he’s here?” someone asked.

“They saw him come in here.  And the water’s on,” another one said.  “Cain, you in here?”

Cain smirked down at Deimos’ worried look.  “Yeah,” he called, like he’d be proud to get caught.

“Bering wants to see you.  Five minutes.”

“Got it,” Cain called.

Footsteps echoed through the empty locker room, the sound of the door closing and the silence oppressive as Cain stepped out of the shower.  Deimos rinsed quickly, hurrying to join him, watching Cain dress with his skin still damp.  His pulse racing, Deimos closed the distance between them and caught Cain’s wrist.

He got an angry look.  “Let me go, Deimos,” Cain said slowly.

Deimos swallowed hard, never daring so much.  It was  _Myshonok_  when Cain wanted something,  _Deimos_  when he was angry.  In a burst of bravado, he ignored the warning and pulled Cain close, leaning in to kiss him, to breath him in.  Cain struck first, a fist to the stomach, folding Deimos in two, making him stumble to the floor.  He stayed down, hoping to calm Cain’s anger, but his cold voice made Deimos realize his mistake.

“That was the last time, Deimos.  I’ll get another toy when I’m done with this navigator.  That suits you, doesn’t it?”

Deimos cringed from him, not denying it.  Cain’s cruelties were sometimes to ignore and sometimes to ridicule, and Deimos didn’t want to give him anything else to crush.

“Thought so,” Cain laughed.  “Doesn’t matter who as long as you’re getting fucked by someone.”

“ _No!_ ”  It was supposed to be a yell but it was only a hoarse whisper, his voice weak and nervous.  Cain looked him in the eye as he finished dressing, shaking his head.  He said something about leaving to find his new girlfriend, but Deimos was too stunned to hear as Cain left him there alone.

Deimos finished dressing mechanically, the smell of the soap more horrible than before, Cain’s scent gone.  All he’d wanted was a last touch until the navigator was replaced again, just a memory to get him through seeing Cain and not having him.

* * *

He left the locker room for quarters, hoping his navigator had gone down to see the new recruits come in.  He ran into some fighters who eyed him up, looking him over like they’d fuck him there.  He turned them away with a cold look, uncomfortable, edgy with being watched.  Deimos checked for his knife, safely in place along his wrist, ready for the new recruits who would want to prove themselves and the old crew who would notice and take advantage of Cain’s disinterest soon.

* * *

Lying in bed, Deimos smiled up at the ceiling.  The new recruits were in, the cruiser gone, and things weren’t as bad as he’d worried.  Cain liked things simple.  Deimos hadn’t ruined everything, he only had to stay by Cain’s side and, most of all, be indispensable.  If Deimos could get his trust back, Cain might take him back, let him lay against Cain’s chest, breathing him in, being filled by him.  Deimos turned over and closed his eyes. 

The new navigator wouldn’t last forever.


End file.
